Английский язык с Крестным Отцом

sticks with me and he gets wiped out; he's figuring I can't win."

Hagen paused before he asked reluctantly, "How right is he figuring?"

Michael shrugged. "It looks bad. But my father was the only one who understood that

political connections and power are worth ten regimes, I think I've got most of my

father's political power in my hands now, but I'm the only one who really knows that." He

smiled at Hagen, a reassuring smile. "I'll make them call me Don. But I feel lousy about

Tessio."

Hagen said, "Have you agreed to the meeting with Barzini?"

"Yeah," Michael said. "A week from tonight. In Brooklyn, on Tessio's ground where I'll

be safe," He laughed again.

Hagen said, "Be careful before then."

For the first time Michael was cold with Hagen. "I don't need a Consigliori to give me

that kind of advice," be said.

During the week preceding the peace meeting between the Corleone and Barzini

Families, Michael showed Hagen just how careful he could be. He never set foot

outside the mall and never received anyone without Neri beside him. There was only

one annoying complication, Connie and Carlo's oldest boy was to receive his

Confirmation in the Catholic Church and Kay asked Michael to be the Godfather.

Michael refused.

"I don't often beg you," Kay said. "Please do this just for me. Connie wants it so much.

And so does Carlo. It's very important to them. Please, Michael."

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She could see he was angry with her for insisting and expected him to refuse. So she

was surprised when he nodded and said, "OK. But I can't leave the mall. Tell them to

arrange for the priest to confirm the kid here. I'll pay whatever it costs. If they run into

trouble with the church people, Hagen will straighten it out."

And so the day before the meeting with the Barzini Family, Michael Corleone stood

Godfather to the son of Carlo and Connie Rizzi. He presented the boy with so extremely

expensive wristwatch and gold band. There was a small party in Carlo's house, to which

were invited the caporegimes, Hagen, Lampone and everyone who lived on the mall,

including, of course, the Don's widow. Connie was so overcome with emotion that she

hugged and kissed her brother and Kay all during the evening. And even Carlo Rizzi

became sentimental, wringing Michael's hand and calling him Godfather at every

excuse – old country style. Michael himself had never been so affable, so outgoing.

Connie whispered to Kay, "I think Carlo and Mike are going to be real friends now.

Something like this always bring people together."

Kay squeezed her sister-in-law's arm. "I'm so glad," she said.

Chapter 30

Albert Neri sat in his Bronx apartment and carefully brushed the blue serge of his old

policeman's uniform. He unpinned the badge and set it on the table to be polished. The

regulation holster and gun were draped over a chair. This old routine of detail made him

happy in some strange way, one of the few times he had felt happy since his wife had

left him, nearly two years ago.

He had married Rita when she was a high school kid and he was a rookie policeman.

She was shy, dark-haired, from a straitlaced Italian family who never let her stay out

later than ten o'clock at night. Neri was completely in love with her, her innocence, her

virtue, as well as her dark prettiness.

At first Rita Neri was fascinated by her husband. He was immensely strong and she

could see people were afraid of him because of that strength and his unbending attitude

toward what was right and wrong. He was rarely tactful. If he disagreed with a group's

attitude or an individual's opinion, he kept his mouth shut or brutally spoke his

contradiction. He never gave a polite agreement. He also had a true Sicilian temper and

his rages could be awesome. But he was never angry with his wife.

Neri in the space of five years became one of the most feared policemen on the New

York City force. Also one of the most honest. But he had his own ways of enforcing the

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law. He hated punks and when he saw a bunch of young rowdies making a disturbance

on a street corner at night, disturbing passersby, he took quick and decisive action. He

employed a physical strength that was truly extraordinary, which he himself did not fully

appreciate.

One night in Central Park West he jumped out of the patrol car and lined up six punks

in black silk jackets. His partner remained in the driver's seat, not wanting to get

involved, knowing Neri. The six boys, all in their late teens, had been stopping people

and asking them for cigarettes in a youthfully menacing way but not doing anyone any

real physical harm. They had also teased girls going by with a sexual gesture more

French than American.

Neri lined them up against the stone wall that closed off Central Park from Eighth

Avenue. It was twilight, but Neri carried his favorite weapon, a huge flashlight. He never

bothered drawing his gun; it was never necessary. His face when he was angry was so

brutally menacing, combined with his uniform, that the usual punks were cowed. These

were no exception.

Neri asked the first youth in the black silk jacket, "What's your name?" The kid

answered with an Irish name. Neri told him, "Get off the street. I see you again tonight,